Words matter! We should never underestimate the power of them. They change lives—our own life and the lives of others.

I’ve been reading words in books, poems, short stories, memoirs, magazine, journal, and newspaper articles—really any genre I can get my hands on—for almost 50 years. Because I read nearly everyday, it’s impossible for me to count or share all the words that have prompted me to think and/or take action.

Some books, poems, and articles I have read more than once. For example, for the past ten years, I’ve done numerous readings from my book Hannah Kempfer: An Immigrant Girl, and each time I am moved by Hannah’s speech to the Sauk Centre Reformatory girls, ranging from age eight to eighteen. Here’s what Peter Gray published in the Fergus Falls Daily Journal from Hannah’s speech:

When I was a young girl about the age of you youngest girls, I lived with my foster parents on a farm, and we were very poor. Poorer perhaps than any of you have ever been. So poor that often we were hungry. So poor that at one time there was no thread in the house for mending. I had a much-battered doll then, with arms loose and sawdust coming out of her neck. I told my foster mother I needed thread so I could sew the arms on tight and mend the hole where the sawdust was coming out. Also I wanted to make a cloak for the doll; there were bits of colored cloth in the trunk that would do. The man who kept the country store, about a mile from our farm, had told me he would trade two spools of thread, one blue and one white, for two eggs. But my foster mother said no, we had no eggs to waste on trifles.

The next time she sent me to the store, for salt and flour, I stole the thread. My hand darted out all by itself to grab the two spools and hide them in my pocket. As simple as that. No one saw me. I remember whizzing home over the snow. What a thrilling discovery I’d made. Now I could have anything I wanted at the store—candy and oranges, a new comb, beads, hair ribbons.

My foster mother saw the spools of thread and knew from my expression how I had got them. She told me to march right back to the store and give them to the storekeeper and beg his pardon. “No, I can’t,” I cried. “I’d rather die!” But my foster mother was not a person to be disobeyed, and I went along through the snow dragging my feet, wiping my eyes with my knuckles. It was almost dark when I got to the store, and my teeth were chattering. Two boys from the farm next to ours and four or five other persons all stared at me as I came in. The storekeeper was putting a poplar log into the stove, and when he faced me, he was scowling. “Here,” I said, and handed him the two spools of thread. “What’s this?” he wanted to know. “Excuse me,” I said. But apparently he didn’t hear me. “What’s this all about? Speak up.” “Excuse me,” I shouted again. Then I got out of that store as fast as I could.

The last time I saw him, a white-haired old man, he said he had voted for me at every election. Then he grinned and said I could help myself to all the thread in the store if I wanted to.

Next Hannah told the girls of going to Fergus Falls, when she was eleven, to look for work, and of her job with the milkman, the long hours, and her sleeping dead tired on the floor at night, under a rug, with the milkman’s dog.

But, Hannah wasn’t done speaking at that point. She concluded her talk to the girls with these well-selected, life-changing words:

Yes, that was a long time ago. I’ve learned that we always or almost always have two choices; we can let ourselves be beaten, or we can win. I mean we can choose to give in to some hardship or trouble, or to poverty or disgrace and let it wreck us—or else we can choose to work through and come out on the other side into the open. And in the long run our success or failure depends to a great extent on which choice we make.

Even though Hannah had a poverty-stricken childhood and was on her own from the time she was eleven, she beat nearly impossible odds and triumphed by making good decisions. She became a well-respected teacher and the first rural woman elected to the Minnesota House of Representatives, where she served eight terms. Hannah told the girls she had choices and so do they and so do we, the readers.

So, what about you? How have words of others or maybe even your own words impacted your life? What words have caused you to stop and think and/or take action? Post your comments below this post if you want to join the online writing community. Your words matter!

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My father was a man who didn’t say much in a conversational way…but when he did say something, it was worth listening to! Even though he has been gone for over 20 years, I can vividly hear some of his words…as he sat on my bed the night before I was to be married…”All I want to know Ruthie is, are you happy and do you know you’re doing the right thing?” I replied that I was definitely sure and happy….”That’s all I need to know then,” and he gave me a hug and left. There are many more examples of his short, but lasting advice.

Of course the other, more important quoting that I rely on for many of my written articles and stories is the Bible. Who could go past the poetry, peace and praise that one can find in the wonderful pages of God’s Word? It has been a comfort, a rock, an encouragement and guide all of my life.
“Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” Psalm 119:105

“Yes, that was a long time ago. I’ve learned that we always or almost always have two choices; we can let ourselves be beaten, or we can win.”

This advice from Hannah was very heart-warming to read. I find it odd how certain sentences and phrases stick out more than others. I think this applies to speaking just as much as it does writing.

I agree with Liv, words are powerful tools. More often than naught, we speak or write out of turn, harming others and ourselves. However, there are those moments when everything comes together and somehow an impact is made…those are the moments worth waiting for!